Between the Raindrops
by who-need's-a-hero12
Summary: They barely survived. Barely alive. Both pay a heavy price to live. They're baring heavy secrets that weigh one them like stones. With their world shattered, they must seek companionship in each other. But both of them are scared in this new world, scared to start again and forget the past. But what scares them most is what could bloom from their platonic friendship.
1. Chapter 1

Between the Raindrops

Chapter 1: Echo

**Song for this chapter: Echo by Jason Walker**

Hello readers!

I've fallen in love with the enjonine pairing since the movie, and now it has spread like wildfire on Tumblr. I've loved the musical since I was 9, it's one of the best out there. I've tried to blend the book with the musical/movie, but this is primarily based off the musical.

AN: For the lyrics from _A Little Fall of Rain¸_ Eponine's lyrics are italicized, and Marius's lyrics are in bold. The words in italicized bold are excerpts from the actual novel.

Also, Montparnasse speaks in slang, so please don't think I have poor writing form. Javert's whole thing is being religious, so I made him like that in his thought process.

"_**Now, for my pains, promise me—Promise me! Promise to kiss me on the forehead when I am dead, for I shall feel it."**_

_And rain _

**And rain**

_**Will make the flowers…**_

…**grow.**

"_**And then, do you know, Monsieur, I believe I was a little in love with you."**_ She closed her eyes, letting out a sigh into the rainy night. Marius kissed her brow and bent his head. From behind him, Enjolras approached.

"She is the first of us to fall, the first to fall on the barricade."

_She had a name, _Marius angrily thought in vain. "Her name was Eponine, and her life was dark and cold, yet she was unafraid." Combeferre joined Enjolras and stood by his side.

"We fight here in her name!"

"She will not die in vain!" Prouvaire added from the balcony above.

"She will not be betrayed." Lesgles commented from his spot in the doorway. Marius lifted up her limp body and carried her to the table inside. They left her body and went to regroup outside. After a few moments, her eyes fluttered open again. She let her head fall back on the table again, sad that she was not dead and that Marius would not be there to join her. She heard the boys talking outside, and she tried to straighten up, but the bullet in her shoulder sent pain rippling through her. The gamine longed for death to claim her. She could still hear the boys rallying together outside.

Eponine understood that she was severely wounded, and that if she did not receive medical attention soon, she would surely die. She smiled at the thought of that, glad that death would soon be near. Her pulse had slowed and her own blood had soaked her thin jacket, but she still didn't feel like she was dying.

Taking matters into her own hands, she slowly got up from the table and staggered out the back door and into an alleyway. Eponine grew dizzy and collapsed into a heap on the muddy street. She resigned to leaning against a brick wall for support so she could tilt her head up and look at the starry sky above. _At least I'm dying on my own terms and in the beauty of the night. _The gamine grew light-headed, and she was struggling to keep her eyes open. Despite the warm air on that summer night, she was shivering with sweat. Suddenly, her world was fading into blackness, and Eponine passed out.

From the sewage gutter below, something stirred. The grate was popped up and moved to the side, revealing a young man dressed all in black. His top hat cast a shadow over his face, leaving his yellow eyes glowing in the darkness. He skulked over to Eponine's form, prepared to steal from one of the first victims of the Revolution. As he grew closer, he could see that it was not a he, but a she. Upon further inspection, he could make out a face in the misty moonlight. _Eponine_. In a moment he was by her side, checking her pulse. _She's alive, but barely so._ He scooped her up and rushed to the hospital a few blocks away.

During the fast-paced walk there, he didn't know what to say. Things had been awkward between them since her confrontation with Patron-Minette on Rue Plummet. Montparnasse admired her for standing up to her father like that, but he didn't know how to say it to her without sounding pathetic. Granted, his talking would be pointless since she was out cold, but still… His thoughts were interrupted by his arrival at the hospital. With Eponine limp in his arms, he was struggling to open the door. The vagabond assassin was forced to swing her over his shoulder like a sack. _She's too light_ he somberly thought. He had often offered her a portion of his food, but she refused to take it if he had killed for it. Despite the fact that she was a thief herself, she still had a moral compass, and it told her not to take the bread won from blood. _She's too stubborn for her own good_. He opened the door, startling the doctor dozing off at the little desk in front. He strode forward and answered the other's question before he could voice it.

"She's severely injured-got shot in 'er shoulda and 'er hand." He thrust her into the doctor's arms and began to walk away.

The older man stammered, "You're…you're just g-going to l-leave her?"

Without turning around, he replied, "Yes," and walked out of the hospital. _I'll check on her and say goodbye before I have to leave._ He hadn't told a living soul, but he was traveling to England in two week's time. He'd spent the entire spring saving the majority of the blood money to buy passage, and he almost had enough. Luckily, he had a fellow gamin who now worked at the boat yard who owed him a debt. Montparnasse could easily cajole the rosy-cheeked fool into giving him a nice discount. He heard his coworkers banging around in the gutters, most likely looking for him. _Time to earn my wages_. And with a tip of his hat, he slithered back into his underground maze as suddenly as he had appeared.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Enjolras stood bravely as the National Guard aimed there weapons toward his heart. _Maybe not today or tomorrow, but others will rise and take our place. Someday, France shall be free. And I will watch on from above and smile because I will have died for the best possible cause, Patria._

**"Long live the Republic! I'm one of them." Grantaire had risen. The immense gleam of the whole combat which he had missed, and in which he had had no part, appeared in the brilliant glance of the transfigured drunken man. **

**He repeated: "Long live the Republic!" crossed the room with a firm stride and placed himself in front of the guns beside Enjolras.**

**"Finish both of us at one blow," said he. And turning gently to Enjolras, he said to him: "Do you permit it?" Enjolras pressed his hand with a smile. This smile was not ended when the report resounded. Enjolras, pierced by eight bullets, remained leaning against the wall, as though the balls had nailed him there. Only, his head was bowed. Grantaire fell at his feet, as though struck by a thunderbolt.**

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

The rebellion had ended earlier that morning, around dawn, but the bodies of the dead would not be picked up for cremation until later that day. Montparnasse took his chance to look for glitteries while the few National Guards still left went for breakfast elsewhere. He was scrounging through a tall boy's jacket pockets when he heard something rustle. To his dismay, a body was slightly moving on the floor. Montparnasse left the dead boy to investigate the body. He leaned his ear towards the young man's chest and listened. Faintly, very faintly, there was a murmur of a heartbeat. He took a moment to look at the body before recognizing it as the silly boy who led the student rebellion. He had heard a few of the boy's speeches, and they were quite good. _Invigorating, _he correct. _Got 'ta improve me vocab._

From outside the café, Montparnasse heard someone approaching, and he scuttled away from the body and into the shadows of the corner. Montparnasse watched as Inspector Javert glanced at the dead bodies. The younger of the two noted the older man's hair, similar into color to his own. Both of them had the same facial structure as well. He also picked up on the fact that the man worn a shiny badge on his jacket. _Could it be?_ The gamin squinted a little more and saw the small, wooden cross hanging out of his pant pocket. _It's just like the nun said. _Lost in his own thoughts, the younger man did not pick up on the fact that Javert had discovered the last living rebel. As he pulled his sword from his sheath, ready to cut the blonde man's throat, Montparnasse called out.

"Stop!" Javert turned around as Montparnasse stood, meeting the older man's eyes. Chills went through Javert's body as he looked at an almost mirror image of a younger version of himself. _Except for the eyes. Those brilliant yellow eyes like Emile had. _

"Who are you?"

The younger man bowed and took his hat off in greeting. "I'm whoever I need to be to survive."

"Don't be cheeky with me boy, who are you?" Javert turned the sword from the rebel to the shadow.

"I'm Montparnasse of the Patron-Minette. I'm sure you've heard of me."

"Not particularly."

"Oh, that's right, you've spent the majority of your time here in Paris hunting the in-fe-mous convict."

"How did you-" But Montparnasse cut him off.

"In fact, you've spent most of your adulthood trying to get tha codger, ain't ya?"

"How would you know such things?" Feeling bold, Montparnasse pushed away the sword and stepped closer to the older man.

"I think you know tha' answer to that." Javert stepped back in horror.

"No, it can't be. Emile died, and so did the baby." The gamin grew angry at his father's denial of his existence.

"It's nice ta meet you too, Daddy dearest." Javert gripped his hands into angry fists and glared at him.

Montparnasse continued talking. "I always wondered what it be like if I met you…neva thought you'd be such a shit. Figures my fatha' would be the strictest cop of the bunch. And he ain't he respec'ed amongst his own." Javert sneered at his son.

"I don't know how you know any of this, but Emile died, and so did our son."

"Oh really? Then how come I'm here righ' now?"

"It can't be, no, no, no." Javert sunk to the floor, his hands covering his face.

"The nuns at the orphanage in our little town told me all about you. Said you was a coppa, and that you left me. When ma died after me birth, them nuns tried to make you hol' me. Said you woud'nt. Said you _refused_. Said I killed me ma and that I was the devil's spawn. And then you left to work at a little shithole some'where else. And you left me to rot in that hellhole." Javert looked up at his son and gave him a knowing glance, confirming Montparnasse's story.

"Knew it was you when I saw ya cross. They always said you was a nutta for God." The gamin crossed his arms and spit on the floor towards his father.

"What do you want boy?"

"Oh, I want a lot of things. More importan'ly, I got somethin' you want." From the breast pocket of his coat, Montparnasse pulled out a small silver locket. Inside it was a grimy portrait of his mother, a young, beautiful, but sickly woman. He let it fall a little from his hand. Javert reached out to catch it, but Montparnasse stopped the fall by clutching the chain in his palm. He let it sway for a bit, watching his father's eyes desperately follow it.

"You and Is is related, alright. We both like glitteries." Montparnasse gave a toothy grin.

"I haven't seen that in years…where did you get it?"

"Well, you see," the gamin man began to walk with his hands clasped behind his back around the heap of his father on the floor. "It _was_ yours, but you ditched it at the nunnery where ma died. Said it made too much nose and that you couldn't wear it when catchin' criminals. Sold your ring too, you needed a new horse." He stopped to look down at his weary father, offering out the locket in his palm. "You want it?" Javert snatched for it, but Montparnasse pulled it away before he could. "Ah-ah-ah, let's not be rude here. I wanna trade."

"A trade? Of what kind?"

"I figured you'd like that. It's nice and legal."

"Stop playing games and answer the question. What do you want to trade?"

"Anything I want. This is a priceless valuable here. I'm sure you'd do _anything for it_. Am I right?" Javert kept his head low, but he kept making sneaking glances at the locket. "Of course I'm right….here, take the damn thing." He tossed it to the floor, and Javert quickly caught it, cradling it in his calloused palms.

"So, now you owe me pops." He leaned and grinned maliciously at his father. "I ain't ever asked you for nothin', and this is all I'll ever ask of ya. One: see that boy? The one who's breathin?" He pointed over to Enjolras's evanescent form. "Yer gonna save 'im. You see, one of me friends is injured, and she'll need him. I won't be here to protect her no more. I'm sure he'll need her too." He grinned and that and waggled his eyebrows.

"Why don't you just do it yourself?"

"Cas I've already been to jail plenty of times. Don't need to have me head cut off trying to save 'im. You, on the other hand," Montparnasse pointed at his father. "No one will question what you're doing. Even if the think you're crazy, they'll let you pass." Javert nodded in understanding. "Also, you'd have to do somethin' with his face…people will recognize 'im for sure and he'll be dead by the end of the month."

"Have we got a deal?" Javert scouted away on the floor, still clutching the locket in one hand.

"What's your second request?"

"Eh, don't worry about it." He offered at his hand to shake it. Javert slowly got up from the floor while putting on the locket and tucking it underneath shirt. He walked over to his son and shook his hand firmly. Montparnasse forced his father closer to him, for underneath the friendly looking handshake, his gun sticking into his father's gut. He leaned in a whispered in his father's ear.

"And two: yer gonna take a nice long jump into the riva Seine, cas' dead's the only thing you've ever been to me." Javert's face paled and the pupils of his eyes dilated in shock. "Got it?" he jabbed the police officer in the gut, enforcing his request. A little more gently, he added. "You can finally join Ma. The nuns said that was the only good thing about ya-that you luved her." He took his father's shock as opportunity for escape. He knocked his father down, running out the back door and into the alleyway's he knew so well. He called out behind him. "The boy doesn't have much time, be quick about it cop!" Javert watched as his son became a blur in the background.

Turning to the leader, he glanced down at him. _He's barely older than you. A boy calling others boy. _He didn't want to save this traitor, no, he wanted to cut his throat. But he had made a promise to the boy. Then again, he had made a promise to Emile, to look after their son, but he had neglected that. Looking for guidance, he grabbed the locket from his undershirt and opened it to look at her. He furiously wiped away the grim of the sewers to gaze at his dead wife's face. _What do I do Emile? _A voice, her voice, came to mind. He hadn't thought about her in such a long time.

_**Save the boy.**_

_It's against the law._

_**He's just a boy. Would you want a child to die?**_

_He broke the law, he's a traitor._

_**All little boys make mistakes. Let him learn from his, let him live.**_

_You make it sound so easy, darling._

_**Because it is Javert. It's like closing your eyes or saying your prayers.**_

_I don't know what to do._

_**Let God guide you. **_Her voiced faded away from his mind, and he was left alone again. He crouched down to look at the boy when he noticed his hand. The boy had been hit in the shoulder, and the blood had run down his arm to his fingertips. The droplets of blood intersected with a nasty gash on the boy's handing, forming a perfect cross. _God's given me the sign…_ Javert's brow furrowed as he took out his knife and made a deep, jagged cut diagonally across the young man's face. It ran from his right temple, over his nose, through the edge of his lip, and ended at the left side of his chin. _He'll be the ugliest thing on this side of the Seine. Pity too, the boy had been handsome. _Perhaps beauty was a small price to pay to survive. Javert swiftly wiped the dark blood off his knife with the boy's red vest. _That's too distinct. _He stripped the boy of his prized vest before begrudgingly scooping up the boy and walking out the back door. He headed to the hospital, receiving stairs the entire time. Not a word was spoken though. Upon his arrival at the weathered building, he silently walked in, handed him to a doctor, and promptly left. He began walking, not caring where he was truly going.

_**You did the right thing love.**_

_How will I know if it was?_

_**Your conscience will be clear.**_

His mind was empty of the leader, he felt nothing. But for his son…_My conscience is far from clear. _

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

After spending four days in and out of consciousness, Enjolras finally woke up. From behind the screen on his right, someone had let out a ghastly scream. It reverberated through the room and shook the thin wall. He tried to get up, but it pained him to much. He glanced down to see a field of bandages, some white, some red with his blood, and some yellow from the pus that leaked from his wounds. His shoulder was wrapped, and a sticky substance was on his face. He turned his head and looked around. The hospital had its usual crowd: the elderly, the sick, and the pregnant. On the wall across from him, a small mirror hung on a bent peg. He caught a glance at himself and didn't recognize the man who emptily gazed back at him. Red, tired, bruised, and scarred, he was no longer the "Apollo" his friends had always claimed he was. _I'm Hephaestus…that suits me more; a downcast._ A doctor with a towel and a bowl of water came in and put them on the table on the other side of the screen. He began wiping the patient's forehead. Another doctor came in with a glass of water.

"Ah, you're awake!" Enjolras didn't know how to respond. "Now son, do you know where you are?" He shook his head. _I was dead just moments ago_. "You're at the Claude Prevot hospital. You've been shot eight times-twice in your shoulder, four times in your chest, and twice in your abdomen. You're lucky to be alive." Enjolras nodded. "Do you know who you are? How old you are?" Enjolras knew the answer, but shook his head 'no'. The doctor was about to say something when Enjolras's roommate screamed again. This one was blood-curdling and it made Enjolras's hair stand on edge.

What was more insane is that he recognized. _From the barricade…it's a girl from the barricade._

"Eponine!" He cried, but his throat was parched. The doctor had him sip some water before he made him talk.

"You know her?"

"Yes, but barely so…Is she alright?"

"Yes, she's recovered beautifully. The doctor pulled away the screen so Enjolras could see her. Her forehead was damp with sweat, and her shoulder and hand were bandaged. "The wounds were clean shots, so there's no chance of infection from the bullet. If we keep them clean, she'll heal just fine."

"Well, almost." The other doctor, who swung the towel over his shoulder, picked up the bowl.

"What do you mean, almost?"

"She's blind." Enjolras let his head hit the pillow. The doctors gave each other sad, knowing glances before leaving the room.


	2. Chapter 2

Between the Raindrops

Chapter 2: 3AM Solace

_Thanks to msddlove for reviewing and to my sister, _wicked1398, _for beta-ing!_

**Song for this chapter: 3AM by Matchbox Twenty**

Enjolras had struggled to fall asleep ever since he had officially woken up. The pain in his body made it too difficult to fall asleep. His eyes were baggy from lack of sleep, making him look even more zombie-like. The scar on his face was slowly healing, but the marble man had been cracked. Marble can be put back together, but it can never again be the perfection it once was. It shows the flaws within the stone; the jagged cuts where pieces have been torn from their spot.

His only comfort was watching out the window by Eponine's bed. The weather that July had been intemperate. The mornings were sweltering, the afternoons were unbearable, and the evenings were muggy. Typically, a drizzle would start around 5 o'clock. Within the hour, Paris would be drowning in a torrential downpour. Thunder cracked over head, followed by bouts of electric blue lightening. Later in the evenings, the weather calmed down, settling back to a drizzle.

From his beside, he watched the rain lightly patter against the window pane. The window was slightly cracked open, so small droplets of water were dripping down the wall. Somewhere in the distance, a clock tower chimed for three a.m. The third 'bong' of the clock was drowned out by Eponine's scream. She jolted awake from a nightmare where her father and the rest of Patron Minette beat her senseless. From the shadows of the basement where her worst fears came alive, Montparnasse was watching with a Cheshire grin on his face. Next to him, Marius cuddled with Cosette as they laughed at her agony.

To her dismay, she woke to utter blackness. The darkness spooked her, but anything was better than having to watch the man she loved chuckle with his sweetheart over her misery. From somewhere to her left, she could hear something rustling, and she tried to move towards it, reaching out blindly in the dark towards it. Her shoulder stopped her though, and she gasped at the pang.

"Eponine?" Enjolras called out, but Eponine couldn't quite recognize the man's voice.

"Who's there?"

"It's Enjolras..."

"What happened? I got shot, and then I thought I died. And afterwards, I woke up on the table, and somehow I made it to the back alley, and that's when everything got fuzzy, and…" She began to break down; her voice became a hoarse whisper. "And now everything's dark."

"Rather symbolic, isn't it?" Enjolras quietly mused to himself. "Leaders fade into broken shadows and the people of France are blinded from the life they deserve."

"What?" She wiped away a stray tear on her face with her uninjured hand.

"Oh…nothing. Please don't mind my mumblings." There was an awkward silence between them before Eponine spoke up.

"We don't really knows each other, do we?"

"No, I suppose not."

"Well, what do you knows about me? Nothin' negative, right?" She teased, but secretly hoped there was nothing negative about her circulating amongst the members of Les Amis.

"Of course. I know you're name is Eponine Thénardier, but you used a different last name. Jondrette, if I remember correctly. My guess is that you had to switch names because of your family's crime sprees. Your father is notorious and dangerous. Your brother Gavroche was mischievous and lovable. You were always around the café, trying to be near Marius. That's how you got the nickname 'Marius's shadow'." She thought he would stop there, but he continued.

"You're young-maybe seventeen? You've known great joy and great sorrow. Maybe your family was wealthy once, but then you lost it all." He watched her facial expressions, which confirmed his theory as she bent her head down in shame. "There have been many times where you go without food, and whenever there is any, you make sure it goes to your brood of siblings first." Enjolras took a moment to pause and then continued.

"I think you've lived a grisly life, and I'm sorry for that. It's made you tough, and you want something better. I think that's why you longed for Marius-he represented everything you've ever wanted. And I know you're sad. You're the only girl I know that walks around in the rain without an umbrella. You like the feel of the rain on you skin because it makes you feel like you're inside a dream yet keeps you in reality."

"You think a lot, don't you?"

"I grew up alone, so my thoughts were my only friends, my solace." Eponine searched her mind for the word, but she'd never heard it before. She hated to ask him, but she wanted to know what it meant.

"What's that word mean, solace?"

"It means a safe place or something that brings comfort."

"My dreams are my solace too."

"That's what dreams are for; they serve as stars to guide us on this journey we call life."

"That sounds like something Jehan would write." She giggled

"Who do you think taught him to write?" She let out a hearty laugh that almost sounded like a snort. From the opposite side of the room, an elderly man on the other side of the room stirred from his sleep and snored loudly. Eponine quieted her life, and Enjolras watched her in amusement. "And what do you know about me?" Eponine thought for a long time before she answered.

"You're Enjolras, I don't know your first name. You go to the university and you're, what, 20? You're from a rich family, but you wanna save the poor. I like the way you talk-like your words are fire. You lead the boys in the rebellion. You, and Combeferre and Courfeyrac were the triangle 'o hope. They used to call you Enjolras, the liberté, chief of liberty. Combeferre was the égalité, the guide and Courfeyrac was the fraternité, the centre. And you was unstoppable, _monsieur_. We'd a follow you to the ends of 'eh Earth." _They did, but God dragged me back from the brink, and now I live in a purgatory limbo, _he reminded himself.

"They had a few other names for you though. The ones I heard the most were Apollo, the golden god, and the marble statue. But they meant no harm. They all thought you was the best thing since the sun." She let out a hoarse cough and took a moment to collect her thoughts.

"Pascal." He sighed.

"What?"

"That's my given name-Pascal." Eponine did her best not to burst out laughing.

"No wonder you go by your surname." He joined her in a chuckle. "What happened after I sort of died?"

"There was a spy amongst our ranks-" Eponine cut him off.

"Who?"

"The officer, Javert." He answered testly. "And we got into a dog fight that felt like it lasted forever-" Again, Eponine cut him off.

"Did we win?"

"What do you think? Have you seen any people cheering or red flags being jubilantly waved or…" He stopped, realizing that he had hit a raw nerve in Eponine. He saw Eponine turn her head away to wipe away the hot tears burning in her eyes.

"I'm sorry Eponine. I didn't mean to…I'm sor-" Enjolras, the typically brave and bold speaker, froze mid-speech. It had dawned on him that he was in foreign territory. Eponine was a girl, not one of his fellow students. Talking to girls required being sensitive and caring, something that had never been his specialty. That's what he had Courfeyrac and Combeferre to act as the human drive for the rebellion.

"I'm sorry too. That was a stupid question."

"No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that."

"I'll live-I've gotten badder scratches from alley cats." She turned to face him and gave him a sad, understanding smile. He started to say something, but stopped himself. By the strain in his voice, she could tell he had suffered a lot within the past week.

"Everyone?" She whispered.

"Yes." His voice became weak.

"Even Gavroche?" The words caught in the back of her throat, and they came out hoarse.

"Yes." She could barely hear his answer. She covered her mouth as the tears streamed down her cheeks.

"I think…I think if he had grown up, he would have ended up like you." She wiped the snot from her nose and the tears from her eyes with her good hand.

"Thank you." He whispered. "If he had grown up, he would have been a better man than I could ever be. He was one of the best on that barricade." Silence fell between the pair again. The room was filled the hushed snores of the sleeping and the light patter on the window. Enjolras looked out the window to watch the rain as it watered the grass in the little garden in the back of the hospital.

"Tell me about the sky… _s'il vous plaît_." He sympathized with her and obliged.

"The sky is the darkest of navy blues, so it almost looks black. It has splotches of a deep gray in it where clouds and smoke float. The street lamps have cast a soft yellow hue on the streets and the little garden in the back, and the rain looks silver in this light."

"You're good at this, _monsieur._ Where did you learn to talk so good?"

"My mother used to tell me stories before I went to sleep at night."

"What kinds o' stories?"

"All kinds-fairy tales, adventures, a few tragedies from Shakespeare."

"Shake who?"

"William Shakespeare, he's an English playwright." Eponine waited a bit before asking her next question. He could hear by the tone of his voice that he was exhausted.

"Would you tell me a story? I haven't he'rd one in ages, not since I was little."

"What would you like to hear a story about?"

"I wanna hear your story," She yawned.

He thought for a moment before answering. "I don't believe I have one."

"Everyone's got a story."

"Well, if I were to have a story, I'm afraid it would not be very good."

"That's alright. It don't matter if it's shitty or great. I just wanna hear about you's."

"Alright…Once upon a time, there was a young woman named Marie Enjolras, who lived in the small village near Rennes with her grandmother. Her mother had died when she was young, and her father had died in a terrible accident at the mill. Her grandmother was the town seamstress, and Marie was her prodigy in terms of her needlework. The winter she was sixteen, a troupe of gypsies came to town. The little village had never before such gallantry and festivities."

Eponine tucked her knees into her chest and rest her head against them as she eagerly listened.

"At night, the main street was a glowing paradise. During the day, the gypsies either slept or bought necessities in town. The majority of the gypsies visited the grandmother's shop to buy her beautiful clothes. Marie had caught the eyes of many of the male gypsies, and soon she was solicited with offers of marriage. The grandmother turned them all away, but one young man, Gaston, was persistent."

"At dawn, after the village had gone to bed, he would serenade Marie with Italian sonatas. He would stand in the snow, shivering, until the birds began chirping at sunrise. But Marie did not reciprocate his feelings, for she was in love with the bookshop keeper's son, Pascal."

"The heavy snows of that winter made Gaston bitter and jealous. He began to get drunk at night, and the following morning, he would demand from the grandmother that he had the right to marry Marie. The winter winds were harsh, and the grandmother soon grew very ill. Inn the cruel snows of January, the grandmother finally passed away, and Marie was alone. No one could defend her now from the lewd and terrifying Gaston but Pascal. Marie was forced to close down the shop to prevent Gaston from entering, despite the fact that she was already running low on funds. She was faithful to Pascal, and he to her. They both fervently prayed for the day that the caravan would leave."

"On the night of the caravan's departure in early February, Gaston got more drunk that usual. Filled with liquid courage, he snuck into the bookshop, where Marie had gone to find solace. Pascal's family had taken her in, knowing that their son would soon marry the girl. He challenged Pascal to a duel. Pascal did not own a sword or a pistol, for the village had been a peaceful place until the arrival of the gypsies."

"In a fit of drunken rage, Gaston attacked Pascal, who was the weaker or the two men. He had beaten him up into near unconsciousness, and then threw him against the marble countertop of the bookshop. Pascal's head was smashed open, and the blood was said to splatter onto all the surrounding books. Apparently, they were never able to get it out. The fight downstairs had awoken Pascal's family, and his mother, father, and younger brother raced downstairs. Gaston shot all three of them in the head before he grabbed Marie and ran out of the door into the night. The villagers formed a mob to search for Marie, but Gaston had run off into the night with her. The mob got torches and forced the caravans out of town, and they were never allowed to return." Enjolras stopped for a moment and noticed the look of terror on Eponine's face.

"Gaston rejoined the gypsies later that night with Marie in tow. He had beaten her senseless, and proceeded to sexually assault her for the rest of the time that she was kidnapped. He kept her tied up in his tent during the night so she wouldn't run away. By May, they caravan had reached Rennes. Gaston had grown bored with his little plaything, and he left her there in the city, friendless, unemployed, and homeless. She was four months pregnant."

"Marie found refuge in a small monastery on the edge on the town, and the nuns took her in once she explained her plight. Spring blossomed into Summer, Summer faded into Autumn, and Autumn died as Winter gave way. In the midst of a snow storm, she gave birth to twins, a boy and a girl. She named her son Pascal, for he shared his namesake's curly blonde locks and solemn eyes. Her daughter fancied her father, with olive skin and hair the color of rubies. Marie named her daughter Marianne, for in her eyes, her daughter was the symbol of France."

"Young Marie died soon after, for the physical abuse she had been through had weakened her greatly. In addition, she struggled to give birth to one child, let alone two. On her deathbed, she had an epiphany. Her young son would someday start something so powerful that it would shake the core of the government, and her daughter would be his inspiration."

"The children grew up in the protection of the monastery, but during their third summer, Marianne became ill. She died as the Harvest Moon rose over head, and the young boy wept for his sister. An older couple who were visiting the city heard his screams from their carriage. The wife, incapable of bearing children, felt her maternal instincts stirring. She forced her husband to stop the coach and rushed into the small church to find the screaming child. Upon finding him, she consoled and shushed him into sleep, cradling him in her arms. From that moment on, Pascal had a mother. The couple adopted the little boy and took him back to Paris, where they raised him as their own. They never told the boy about his true origins, for they feared they might stir some dark, gypsy evil."

"The wife was severely injured in a riding accident the fall the boy turned nine. Her neck had been broken, and she had little chance of recovery. The husband hired all the doctors he could in the hopes of saving her, but she begged for her husband to let her go. She died the night of her son's tenth birthday."

"The husband, a respected politician, became more cold and reserved than ever before. The boy tried desperately to model himself after his father, but he could not help but protest at the sight of the starving people they passed in the streets. His father would not listen though; it had always been his mother who cared for the poor. By the time the boy was eighteen, he had grown into a mini version of his father in terms of his speaking power. He continued to champion the cause for the poor, and even invited the poor to sleep in the guests beds of their winter home in Paris. The father, driven to the brink with his son's passion for charity, feared that his inner gypsy had emerged."

"In a heated argument, father revealed to son his story. Pascal's nightmares as an infant of a redheaded little girl screaming turned out to be reality. The politician kicked him out of the house, glad to be rid of the youth. The young boy, now a man, dropped his first name and went by his mother's maiden name, Enjolras."

He glanced over at Eponine, who was on the verge of falling asleep. "That's a good story, _monsieur._" She snuggled into her sheets and soon fell asleep. Enjolras stared out the window until his eyelids could not stay open anymore.

He murmured as he began to fall asleep, "Goodnight Eponine."

Eponine stirred and murmured in her sleep. "Good morning, Pascal." The rays of the morning sun were just beginning to kiss the horizon line as they both drifted off into a dreamless slumber.


	3. Chapter 3

Between the Raindrops

Chapter 3: Creep

_Thanks to Mythomagic-Champion and 24601 for reviewing, your reviews are so sweet and encouraging!_

There won't be an update for over a week because I will be gone on a trip, but there will hopefully be another update immediately upon my arrival home.

**Song for this chapter: Creep, by Radiohead. **

When he started to feel level-headed a few days later, he would have the doctors bring him newspapers and books, anything he could get his hands on. Without Eponine to talk to, he would have gone stir-crazy. The elderly folks in the room were quite nosy, the sick did not bother with talking, and the pregnant women did not stay long. Somehow, one of the young doctors had managed to get him a battered collection of Shakespeare's plays. He would stay up late until Eponine woke up, reading sonnets and plays by candlelight. They talked during the wee hours of the morning, often keeping each other awake until after dawn, when Enjolras would drift of into a restless sleep. She eventually explained her story: a pampered and spoiled child humbled and poverty stricken by the events of her youth. In the silences that followed the hushed talks, he would describe various items in the room or how the sky looked. If he was able to relight his candle, he would quietly read to her from his favorite works of Shakespeare, which of course included "Julius Caesar".

As Enjolras finished the play for the sixth time that week, he felt himself starting to get sleepy. He rubbed his eyes in frustration and set the collection of plays on his beside table. He glanced over at Eponine, who still hadn't woken up yet. Worried, he glanced at the ramshackle clock hanging askew on the other side of the room, but he found nothing encouraging. The old clock had been stuck at three for days. He had no real wage to gage time other than by looking outside. The previous afternoon had been more unbearable than most afternoons, so the nurses had opened the window halfway and had forgotten to close it again later in the evening. Beads of rain dripped down the walls to their respective pools of water on the floor.

Suddenly, a neon lightening bolt flashed in the sky, warning of an early morning storm. In the distance, thunder clouds rumbled. The candle threatened to blow out from the gust of wind that blew through the window. Enjolras watched the storm with an air of indifference before glancing over to the clock again. On the floor, only a shadow of the candle flickered. Another crack of lightening occurred, and a dark, shadowy figure, soaked to the bone, appeared for a moment by the window before it disappeared and the candle went out. Enjolras blinked the frightening image away, only to see the intruder again in the corner of the room. It was hard to see him, but he could make out a lean figure, a squashed top hat, and a pair of yellow eyes. He furiously rubbed his eyes, he had been up for almost twenty hours; surely he was just exhausted.

He opened his eyes again and saw that the figure was standing over him. Before he could even open his mouth to yell, the intruder covered his mouth and drew a knife from his coat pocket, holding it to Enjolras's neck. The threatening figure stared at Enjolras for a bit before pulling the knife away and sticking it back in its proper pocket. He lifted his pointer finger to his lips to show that he needed to keep quiet, and the blonde man nodded in understanding. The stranger removed his hand from Enjolras's mouth.

"Who are you?"

"Montparnasse, I'm a friend of 'Ponine's." Enjolras had to squint in the dark to observe the man. He was soaked to the bone, his clothes dripping wet droplets onto the floor. What disturbed Enjolras though was that the rain was not clear, but a deep, muddy red.

"I'm Enjolras."

"I know; I saved your sorry ass."

"Then sir, I owe you my gratitude, as well as my life." Enjolras subconsciously moved his hand to his neck and rubbed it where the knife had just been held.

"Oh, you don't owe me directly. You see, someone owed me, so I got him to get you the hel' outta there."

"Do you have his contact information? I'd like to thank him."

"Sure, it's 666, the bottom of the Seine, Paris, France." Enjolras gaped at Montparnasse in confusion. "He jumped-suicide. God, I thought you was intelligent."

"Who was he?"

"An asshole cop." Eponine stirred in her sleep, alarming the pair. "I better change, I don't want her to see my like this." Enjolras began to say something, but Montparnasse slid out of the room.

Within ten minutes, he had slipped back into the room, now wearing an entirely new outfit, with his old clothes stuffed in a knapsack. A mere stranger on the street would have thought he was a doctor off duty with the exception of the old top hat he wore.

"How do I look? Professional?" Montparnasse let out a hearty laugh that sounded like the thunder storm outside

"It doesn't matter."

"Of course it matters. I have a new life ahead o' me in England. Me and 'Ponine are gonna get that dream of ours. We've wanted this for so long." He noticed the mirror and checked his face for dried blood. "I wanna make a good impression on 'er."

"It doesn't matter."

"Stop saying that." Montparnasse flicked out his knife menacingly towards Enjolras, but the latter didn't even flinch.

"But it doesn't. Look, you don't understand. She won't care what you look like because she can't see."

"What?"

"She's blind."

"But, but…She wasn't like that when I first found her. If I had gotten to her earlier" He stayed quiet for a moment before anger flashed in his eyes. "It's you and your damn rebellion that did this to 'er!" Montparnasse charged towards Enjolras, but lost his passion halfway and stopped to let out a sob disguised as a sigh.

"The doctor's say that it was bound to happen; she's had a slew of bad colds and coughs for the past few years. But yes, when it was paired with her being out in the rain, I'm sure it sped up the process."

Montparnasse sat at the foot of the bed and thought for a moment. "The doctors here are good, right?"

"They're some of the best."

"Can't they just heal 'er?"

"They're good, but they aren't miracle workers. The odds are that they can never cure her, and that she'll be blind for the rest of her life." Montparnasse rested his head in his palms for a moment. Nearby, Eponine began to wake up.

"…Enjolras?" She yawned.

"Good morning." Eponine could hear someone breathing.

"Who's our guest?"

"A good friend of yours." Montparnasse crossed over to her bedside and grabbed her hand to kiss it.

"Hello Eponine."

"Montparnasse!" She was startled, not expecting to hear her distant childhood friend. On her family's trip to Paris, Montparnasse had joined their ragtag gang after he ran away from the town of his birth. He had impressed her father so much that he let the odd boy stay. As children in Paris, they were as thick as thieves. The city had been their playground. Nothing could separate the trio of Azelma, Eponine, and Montparnasse. Since they became teenagers, Montparnasse had gotten a taste for blood, which Eponine found unnerving. He also tried to hit on her all the time.

"Now, 'Ponine, is that the way to greet an old friend?" He teased.

"Go away, you creep!" She laughed.

"That's the first thing she ever called me when we first meet, a creep." Montparnasse had turned around to explain to Enjolras.

"Because you was looking in the whores' dressing rooms!"

"What can I say? I have good taste." Montparnasse began rubbing her arms and gave her his disturbing version of a grin, and she pulled herself away from him.

"Why are you here, Montparnasse?"

"I've come to say goodbye-I'm going to England!"

"Good for you, I know that's what you've always wanted."

"I don't belong here. I never have. That became clear the day I was born, when daddy-dearest left me. Oh, speaking of, guess who I found?"

"You found your father?" Montparnasse nodded yes, forgetting she couldn't sigh. She took the silent pause as her 'yes'. "Who is he?"

"You remember that cop that was nosing 'bout, Javert?"

"Yeah, he's a goddam… of 'Parnasse, I'm so sorry."

"Eh, I'll live."

"How can you afford to go to England?"

"I've been saving up for a few months."

"When do you leave?"

"An hour." She nodded and gave him a sad smile. "I wish we had more time to talk."

"Why? Aren't you just dying to leave France?"

"Yes, but I have so much that I need to explain to you, so much that I need you to understand." He grabbed her shoulders and she was able to inhale his scent.

"Why do you smell like blood?" He didn't bother to answer. Instead, he looked away from her, towards the clock. "So that's how you got the money."

"It's a living." Montparnasse shrugged with an air of indifference.

"What are you going to do over in England? They have a stricter system; you'll get put on the gallows!"

"Well, I steal to start off, and if I get bored, maybe I'll become a clerk or something." She laughed.

"God, you're going to get yourself killed." The impact of her own comment hit her then, and she grew quiet.

"Who cares? My life isn't worth shit."

"But it is. Don't throw away your life."

"Yeah, yeah. You've given me this lecture before, 'Ponine." He stood up and walked backwards, arms raised in angst and cynicism. "But as long as my name isn't 'Marius Pontmercy'," He mimicked the musical way she typically said Marius's name. "you won't care." Tears formed in her eyes and she desperately tried to will them away.

"Parnasse-" She started, but he cut her off.

"No, it's ok. I shouldn't have expected you to return my feelings. Like the high and almighty Eponine Thénardier would ever love Javert Junior." He backed away towards the door. "What the hell am I doing here?" His thoughts became speech without him realizing it. He ran off into one of the corridors. Eponine, still exhausted, quickly fell asleep with a large trail of tears still wet on her pillow.

Enjolras was left feeling extremely uncomfortable. He felt like he had been watching a private conversation. Moments after she fell asleep, Montparnasse was in the doorway again, this time with an umbrella. He snuck over to Enjolras and crouched down.

Montparnasse pressed a large bag of coins into Enjolras's hands. "This should take care of you for about a year."

"But how will you afford passage now?"

"I just take money for fun, now and days. A knife, I find," he pulled his out to show, "has much better results for getting things." He put the knife away. "Don't worry though, I still have another bag for myself." The two men were almost face to face. The thief noticed the scar and touched the top of it. "He did a nice job with this."

"Who?"

"My daddy-dearest. I asked him to carve you up so that you couldn't be recognized." Enjolras tightened his hands into fists, both appreciative and freaked out by the gesture.

"Can you keep a promise?" Enjolras nodded. "Enjie, I need you to look after her. She is the only thing in this world that's worth anything. Eponine's special."

"I'll do my best."

"But if she gets hurt, or injured, or killed, I will come back here and personally skin you alive." Enjolras grew pale. Montparnasse leaned in and whispered in the other man's ear. "I have the distinct feeling thought that she'll look after you too." He glanced over to her sleeping form and smiled. "You can get through this together." Montparnasse stood up and pushed another item into Enjolras's hand. "I figured you may want this."

_With a face like that, you'll need it._ Enjolras looked down to see a performer's mask. He looked up again to thank the man, but he was gone. The window was fully open now, and the wind made the limp curtains look like dancers in the moonlight.

And in the hush of the early morning, Enjolras made a promise to himself and Eponine. He would become her guardian angel, and he would protect her for as long as she lived. He knew, somewhere deep inside him, that she had had already decided to do the same for him on that first night of their strange coexistence. He drifted off into sleep with a smile on his face.


End file.
